


Dark necessities

by boybeaulieu



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Andrew Minyard is HOT 2k20, Bad Boy Andrew Minyard, Hate to Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, OR IS HE, Pining, so much pining, very cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boybeaulieu/pseuds/boybeaulieu
Summary: If there is one thing everyone knows in this shit-hole town, is that Andrew Minyard is dangerous. Neil sees it as well, he sees the tattoos and the piercings and the fast car; he sees the dead eyes and the cigarettes and the bruised knuckles. And he absolutely hates it.orThe Small Town AU where Andrew Minyard has a reputation, Neil is helplessly infatuated and bound to get his heart broken, and Allison -well, Allison did warn them all.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 126
Kudos: 800





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I should warn you, this is very silly and self-indulgent but, if you know me, it certainly doesn't mean there won't be angst. I already got to break Andrew's heart, now it's Neil's turn :)
> 
> Also, this is definitely not me projecting my fuckboy issues onto Neil. Bye.

If there is one thing everyone knows in this shit-hole town, is that Andrew Minyard is dangerous. Neil sees it as well, he sees the tattoos and the piercings and the fast car; he sees the dead eyes and the cigarettes and the bruised knuckles. And he absolutely hates it. You see, men and women alike cower in front of this one Andrew Minyard and his knives and Neil can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Andrew Minyard is a fraud, he’s a show-off. He stands there outside of the Academy with his stupid leather jacket and his stupid sunglasses, and thinks he’s so cool. He’s got this bad boy thing going on and he’s taken it way too far, what with the year he spent high as a kite after almost beating those guys to death. Neil doesn’t believe it for a second, he doesn’t believe the silence and the hard stares and the rumors –god, the rumors. There is no doubt that Andrew Minyard almost killed those men, everyone saw him walk into the courtroom with his hands cuffed and his face bruised. Everyone saw him walk out of the hospital with a smile so stretched his lips must have cracked. Scary, they said. The whole story is a fact, foolproof, but the other hundreds of rumors surrounding Andrew Minyard are nothing but bullshit. Apparently, he did manage to kill someone. Apparently, he set fire to one of his foster homes, he went to juvie. In high school he threatened a teacher with a knife, he got into more fights than anyone could count, he stole a car and drove it into the church wall. He killed his mother.

And then, there’s the other kind of rumors.

Neil didn’t really get it, at first, the fact that Andrew Minyard had girls and boys fawning all over him. He didn’t get the obsession, the way these people talked about him like he was a monster and then wondered what it would be like to fuck him. _It’s human nature_ , had said uncle Stuart, _we’re attracted to danger. Also, I’ve known that boy since he came into town, I don’t know why anyone would ever want to come near him._ That was kind of the point, Neil guessed. It seemed like Andrew Minyard was a great fuck, hot and rough. It seemed like he was one for one-night stands, picking someone new every night at that bar he worked at. Fucking them in the bathroom, fucking them in his car but never, ever taking them home. The rumors were wild, some more accredited than others, like the fact that Andrew Minyard was gay. Still, even when that was accounted for, girls didn’t lose their interest and certainly didn’t stop talking about him right next to Neil at lunch. And yet, Neil didn’t understand the hype, the incongruity of it all. That is, until he saw him.

Aaron Minyard couldn’t be any more different from his brother, that is a bit of statement, since they’re twins. He and Neil have developed some kind of friendship-like relationship since Neil started attending the Academy a few months ago, one where they seat together at lunch and help each other out with assignments, all without speaking more than is strictly necessary. Aaron knows close to nothing about Neil and Neil knows close to nothing about Aaron. He’s not like the other people here, he’s not like Neil himself, Aaron studies at the Academy thanks to a scholarship. He isn’t rich, his uniform is second-hand and his books come from the library. Neil couldn’t care less, they’re both quiet types (not Neil, not really) and work well together and that is enough. Sometimes, Neil wishes he was someone else, someone who could make real friends, someone Aaron would like to hang out with outside of school. The first time Neil saw Andrew Minyard he’d come to pick up Aaron from the Academy. Neil remembers it clearly, the way he’d stood there in his leather jacket, tattoos glistening under sun. Blonde hair all kinds of messy, that kind of messy where it’s obvious he put in both effort and product to achieve that particular effect. Not like Neil’s own kind of messy, where it’s obvious he doesn’t comb his curls most of days. It was kind of a punch in the gut when he saw him the first time, when he heard him warn a guy that if he ever talked to Aaron like that again he’d have the pleasure of dealing with him instead. When he went home and realized he had a boner. That –that was totally inexplicable, because Neil doesn’t like people that way. Neil doesn’t swing, Neil has been kissed twice in his entire life and, when he thinks about that, the only thing he can feel are his mother’s fingers tightening in his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling. Since then, he’s come to face with the fact that his body has all kinds of weird reactions around Andrew Minyard and that it’s okay. It’s okay because nothing will ever come out of it, not when Andrew has never deigned to ask his name, even after months of seeing him with Aaron, not even a ‘hello’ or a glance. Nothing. It’s okay, nothing will ever come out of it especially because Neil knows the truth about Andrew Minyard. He knows he likes to act tough and look tough, but people like him wouldn’t survive a second in Neil’s world. At least, what used to be Neil’s world. Not anymore. Never again.

You see Neil Josten is a lot of things: he’s an artist, he’s a liar, he’s a virgin. Neil Josten is a lot of things and, well, Neil Josten isn’t one of them. Not technically, at least. He has been a lot of different people and he’s lived in a lot of different places and he’s spoken a lot of different languages. Right now, though, he _is_ Neil Josten and he lives in a house far too big and flashy for his tastes and has everything he could ask for. He is also lonely, just a bit, just enough to make it hard to sleep at night. There’s uncle Stuart and there’s Miss Wrigth who makes him breakfast and tidies up the house, but it’s not- it’s not right. And then there’s the people at the Academy, who stopped inviting him places and trying to talk to him long ago. Those people, his classmates, spoilt and haughty and just plain mean. He hates them all, keeping himself from lashing out at them every single day is a hard enough task, let alone pretending he likes them. It’s not like he isn’t aware of the stuff they say behind his back, not that they try to hide it, mind you. He knows they think he’s weird, that there must be something wrong with him.

He adjusts, that’s something Neil Josten does well. He passes by, unseen, unnoticed, but it’s kind of hard when his new life is all about expensive uniforms and expensive cars and gala dinners. It’s better than the alternative, that’s for sure. It also doesn’t make life any easier.

The Academy is a place for posh people, that’s what the boys and girls from state college call them. It’s a castle-like building, with turrets and a soccer field, something straight out of the nineteenth century. It’s funny because this town really is a shit-hole, six thousand residents at best, a few restaurants and one bar, _that_ one bar. It’s funny because in between trashy 24 hours shops and half-built construction sites, the Academy stands out like a sore thumb and so do those beautiful houses with their patios and their gardens and their white fences. Just like uncle Stuart’s. Neil has never been used to this kind of places, at least not since he left Baltimore with his mother. Mary –no, he won’t go there. His life on the run was all cheap motels and shitty flats and the backseat of a car, few enough clothes that they could fit in a practical duffle bag, an old phone –just for emergencies.

When Stuart took him in, Neil looked nothing like he does now: a new name that still tasted foreign on his tongue, black hair and brown eyes, ratty clothes and a whole lot of fear. Some things haven’t changed, he’s still a bit skinny and a bit skittish, he still forces his smart mouth shut and hides his scars under long sleeves and baggy sweaters. Now, though, when he looks into the mirror he sees his father’s eyes, auburn hair and freckles, skin so pale that the veins at his temples stand out, blue and thick. He does look a bit sickly. Now, he wears an expensive uniform at school and even more expensive suits at the dinners he’s required to attend. Stuart and him have this particular agreement where Neil is allowed to participate at the least possible number of events as long as he promises not to cause any trouble. It’s easy enough, he doesn’t want to stand out, still there are times when he has to physically walk away from conversations before he says something incriminating. It’s a new life, a life where his father is dead and his men are in prison. A life where he is safe. The only reason he agreed to attend the Academy is because of what they teach there. Stuart wanted him to follow his footsteps, Neil knows it, he wanted him to go into economics or marketing or whatever, but something that Neil is starting to learn is that Stuart has grown kind of fond of him. So he let him choose the Academy, he let him choose his camera and his photographs.

***

There’s a new girl at the Academy, her name is Allison and she seems to have made it her mission to talk Neil out of his shell. She just won’t. Leave. Him. Alone. He had to give in, at some point. So he did. It turns out Alison isn’t that bad, she’s a painting major but what she really wants to be is a stylist, the Academy was her parent’s idea. She’s outspoken and blunt, mean in some kind of honest way that separates her from the rest from Neil’s classmates. He likes that. She still thinks he’s far too quiet, that _it’s such a pity you don’t swing my way, you’re a hottie_. He tried to explain her he doesn’t swing _any_ way (except for that one time, that one person), but people don’t seem to understand that. Whatever, he can’t have it all and Alison is already, well, more than bearable. Everyone knows her, the kids here all attended the same (and only) high school and Allison used to be pretty popular back then. Something must have happened, though, because now the looks she receives at the Academy are nothing like admiration or even jealousy. Whatever has happened, Neil is kind of happy it did, because it’s probably the only reason Allison deigned befriending someone like him. They’ve been hanging out at the Academy and Neil finds himself wondering what it would be like to spend time with her outside of it, just like he did with Aaron. Speaking of, Aaron has been sick for a few days and didn’t miss the chance to order Neil to pass him his notes. That’s something Aaron does, being rude and talking to people with no empathy whatsoever. Today, though, he’s finally back –not that Neil has missed him, mind you.

“Hi Allison.” Is the first thing he says when he spots Neil and his new friend outside of the Academy.

“Hey, little monster.” Neil feels his brows go up, Allison gives him a look. “He’s like a far tamer and cuter version of the real monster.”

“Shut up.” Snaps Aaron.

“Shut up,” mimes Alison, “I should have known you’d go for this charity case.” She says, nodding to Neil. Aaron simply rolls his eyes and walks inside, leaving them behind. Neil, well, Neil is a bit stunned.

“You know Aaron?” He asks. Allison hums.

“We have friends in common.”

It makes sense, Aaron is an outcast, just like Neil’s always been and Allison has become. Posh princess-turned-bad girl Allison Reynolds is probably someone who’s friends with the kind of people those at the Academy despise. Another thing Neil likes about her.

“By the way,” she says, “we’re going out tonight.”

Neil stops walking. “We’re what?”

She smiles, a bit amused, a bit predatory. “It’s Friday night and you look like you don’t know how to have fun.”

“That’s because I don’t.” He replies.

“Jesus, don’t say those things. You make me want to smother you with love.”

“Please don’t do that.” Something must be showing in his face, because Allison laughs out loud and proceeds to throw an arm around his shoulders to lead him inside the Academy. He wasn’t joking.

Once they’re done for the day and the only thing Neil can think about is his bed, soft and warm and safe, Allison wastes no time dragging Neil shopping for the night.

“Neil,” she says, “even your uniform doesn’t fit you, I don’t want to know what kind of clothes you own. “

Aaron is lucky enough to escape this torture, or maybe he’s simply someone who does get out and does know how to dress appropriately. Frankly, Neil doesn’t really get it. His clothes are perfectly fine, they’re functional and comfortable and, what’s most important, they cover every inch of his body. Every single scar. He doesn’t see the point in spending money for stuff he doesn’t need, but Allison is stubborn and she seems to see Neil as some sort of ugly duckling who needs to be turned into a swan. Needless to say, he ends up buying far more than he could afford if uncle Stuart hadn’t taken him in. It’s all black and tight and expensive, but it’s not revealing, that’s something he was adamant about. Allison had looked at him oddly, head cocked and gaze assessing, but she had listened. For that, Neil was grateful.

She picks him up at ten, pink convertible and all. Neil feels his cheeks redden at the simple thought of riding on that thing. Uncle Stuart looks pleased where he’s sitting in the living room, a book in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

“Stop being so smug.” Calls out Neil. Uncle Stuart doesn’t even raise his eyes form whatever it is he’s reading when he says:

“Be home by midnight.”

“I’ll be home when I’ll be home, bye.”

Uncle Stuart’s laugh echoes behind him as he exits the house and hops into Allison’s car. She’s all dressed up, sparkly skirt and heels so sharp Neil doesn’t know how she manages to drive in them. Her make up is bold and perfectly done, not a hair out of place. Neil supposes she looks beautiful.

“Did you even comb you hair?” Is the first thing she says.

“Uhm, yes?”

The look she gives him speaks for itself, but other than that she doesn’t insist.

“Where are we going?” He asks, just to change the subject.

“Eden’s Twilight, not like there’s anywhere else to go.”

Neil knows as much, after months of living in this town he’s learnt that kids don’t have much to do in the weekend. Eden’s Twilight is the only bar in town, it doesn’t card but it seems like high-schoolers wouldn’t even dare try to get in. There are parties, sometimes, when the rich kids’ parents are out of town. People at the Academy used to invite Neil in the beginning, now they don’t bother anymore. He’s never been to a party, not once in his life. He also couldn’t care less.

“You look hot, by the way, I have great taste.”

Neil snorts, amused.

“These are far too tight.” He says, pinching his jeans.

“Honey, jeans are never too tight, especially if you want to get laid.”

“I don’t want to get laid.” Sighs Neil.

“You’re saying this now, but when you get in there looking like that, you’ll turn heads.” They’re still at a stoplight, Allison’s long, manicured fingers drumming obnoxiously on the wheel.

“What does that have to do with it?” The light turns green.

“Everything.”

He doesn’t answer, a new song comes on the radio and Allison turns the music up. She starts singing along, throwing a glance at Neil and finding him leaning on the window, silent. She rolls her eyes, the gesture looks fond though, and Neil keeps watching the road.

Eden’s twilight is cheap. And dirty. And packed. It’s not like Neil expected anything different, a bar in a town like this doesn’t need to be _cool_ , especially if it’s the only one. He hates it already, he feels eyes on him, so many eyes and too many people. The music is loud and the exit is too far away and he can hardly breathe-

“Look, they’re already here.” Says Allison, finger pointing to a group of people who were lucky enough to snag a table. Neil swallows.

“You look a bit green.”

“I’m just –I don’t go out much.” He confesses, the look he receives from Allison makes his stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Well, it’s good you have me now, then. Come on.”

It turns out Allison’s friends are nice, Matt especially seems to have taken a liking to him and Neil –well, Neil likes him. He’s polite, doesn’t overstep and simply shrugs when Neil refuses a drink. The girls, Dan and Renee, are much the same. Renee is quiet, she doesn’t engage much in conversations just like Neil, while Dan’s more outspoken. She’s funny, Neil finds himself smiling at her stories. This place doesn’t feel so overwhelming now that he’s sitting here with them, the table dirty and stained, their voices carrying out over the music. He could get used to it, maybe it would do him some good, trying to have fun. He doesn’t think he is, having fun that is. Neil doesn’t think he’ll ever have fun unless he’s seeing the world through the lenses of his camera, but right now he feels light. He feels like he can stop thinking everything over and just –just be.

“Oh, there they are!” Pipes up Dan. “Personal detail and all.” Her tone is a bit strained, but she smiles easily enough when Aaron and two other guys approach their table. There’s someone else behind them, Neil catches a glimpse of blonde hair and black ink. He swallows.

“Hi everyone!” It’s one of Aaron’s friends, tall and eccentric. “Jesus, how many drinks have you already –hey, wait, who is _this_?” Neil feels his eyes on him, his smile turns into something more –intimate.

“Hands off, Nicky.” Intervenes Allison. “This one’s mine.” Her arm is heavy when it falls over Neil’s shoulder, her eyes sparkling with amusement when she looks at him conspiratorially.

“Actually,” says Neil, and edge to his voice, “I’m not anybody’s.”

“Feisty, I like that.”

“Nicky.” Someone speaks up, voice low and curt. A warning.

“Oh, come on, not this one too.” Whines Nicky. Andrew Minyard turns his dead eyes to him, and keeps them there. He keeps them there until Nicky rolls his own and, with a sigh, sits as far away from Neil as he can. Then, for a moment, just a split-second, Andrew Minyard’s looking at Neil. It’s fleeting, so quick Neil’s not sure it even happened, and his brows are drawn and dark, a muscle twitches in his cheek. There’s all kinds of things going on inside Neil’s body, he can’t even name one. The thing is that Andrew Minyard looks just like he always does, just like everyone always describes him. He looks like trouble. He looks unbelievably good in his black t-shirt and combat boots, the ring in lower lip draws attention to the soft curve of his mouth, those in his ears to the strong line of his jaw. The scars on his arms are there, raised and visible even under his tattoos. Flowers and stylized shapes, black and surprisingly fine, hiding something that can’t be hidden. Or maybe that is not the point at all.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Neil jumps, slightly, just a little bit. He looks up from Andrew Minyard’s arms to his face, this time there is no doubt he’s looking at him. He shrugs, doesn’t answer. Andrew Minyard’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t.” He says. A moment passes, two.

“Alright.” Replies Neil and promptly turns his head to the table. His cheeks feel on fire. Beside him, Allison is smiling so cunning and filthy that Neil’s skin reddens even more. Dan, too is looking at him oddly. Knowingly. Well, fuck.

“I want drinks.” Says the other guy, a tattoo on his cheek. _Who even does that?_ And so, odd guy and Andrew Minyard disappear into the crowd. Allison doesn’t waste any minute.

“Let’s play truth or dare, I’ll start. Neil, how much do you want to fuck the monster on a scale from ten to one-hundred?”

Neil doesn’t even have the chance to respond, to make up any possible excuse, to embarrass himself even further, because Aaron speaks up first.

“Fuck you Allison, shut up.”

“Please, your brother wants him just as much, you’ve seen that whole scene.”

“I said,” grits out Aaron, “shut up. Neil’s not like those other stupid fucks, all over my brother for no apparent reason. Are you, Neil? ”

There is no warning in Aaron’s voice, no passive-aggressive tone. He genuinely believes Neil couldn’t care less about Andrew Minyard, so what can he do except for nodding and keeping quiet? Well, fuck indeed.

At the end of the night, Allison takes him home. After that one awful conversation, Kevin –that’s the odd guy’s name –came back with a tray full of drinks, no Andrew Minyard in sight, and nobody mentioned anything anymore. Neil has learnt that Nicky is the twins’ cousin, he’s loud and bubbly and smiles way too much. He’s also very noisy, but he has his moments. Kevin, instead, is a fucking asshole. That’s it, nothing more to say. He kept quiet for most of the night, drinking shot after shot until he was drunk enough to start criticizing everything everybody said. The others, though, seem to be used to this kind of behavior coming from him, because they shut him up quickly and efficiently. Neil was glad, he didn’t know if he’d be able to keep his mouth shut for much longer. Overall, the night was nice. It’s –it makes him feel a bit weird, seeing them all be friends. Neil doesn’t have friends, he thinks maybe he’d like to, maybe he’d like to be _their_ friend.

“Did you have fun?” Asks Allison, eyes on the road.

“Yeah I-“ Neil sighs, combating over whether he should tell her the truth or keep hiding himself, keep being safe. “I really did.” It’s out of his mouth before he can make a choice. Allison smiles, and this time it’s small and warm.

“Good, it means next Friday you won’t bitch about coming out with us.” There’s this warmth spreading in his chest, this feeling of –of, maybe, belonging for once in his life. He feels lighter.

“Also,” continues Allison, “you definitely need some bodyguards, have you seen how many people checked you out? I take full credit, by the way.”

He doesn’t know what to respond, mainly because he didn’t see anyone checking him out, because he really doesn’t care except –except he does care about one person checking him out. Allison must be a mind reader or something because the next thing she says is:

“Even the monster couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

The monster is Andrew Minyard, who spent the night behind the counter pouring drinks and staring admirers down. Who caught Neil staring at his scars and called him out in front of everybody.

“And so?” He says, playing dumb. Allison laughs.

“And so, remember these words: you can do anything you want with whoever you want, but that one? That one is trouble and he’s going to break your heart. He takes home a different guy every night and doesn’t bother acknowledging their existence when they come back for more. I get the appeal, everybody in this town does, but he’s not worth it.” And suddenly, Neil is very, very annoyed.

“What are you trying to say, Allison?” The car stops in front of Uncle Stuart’s house and Allison turns her eyes on him, her expression is unreadable.

“I’m saying you should stay away from him, both for your own good and if you want to keep being friends with Aaron.”

Neil shakes his head, staring resolutely ahead, and says:

“I told you, I don’t swing.”

***

It’s Friday night, exactly seven days and two hours since he first went out with Allison, and Neil is in the backseat of a Maserati with Andrew Minyard’s hand in his pants. He’s being kissed and it’s all clashing teeth and burning lips and a tongue that would make his knees buckle if he were standing up. He feels his hands reaching for Andrew’s face, shoulders, whatever they can hold onto, and stops himself short. _If I kissed you,_ _would you know how to keep your hands to yourself?_ Andrew notices, if the fleeting stiffening of his whole body is anything to go by. He doesn’t stop though, his fingers close around Neil’s wrists, his own hands hanging uselessly by his sides. His skin burns where touched by Andrew, he feels his hands being moved up and up and up until they’re above his head.

“Stay.” Orders Andrew. Neil has no intention of disobeying, he feels a bit out of it, as if everything around him is spinning and Andrew is the only thing keeping him anchored. Still. He doesn’t know what kind of expression he makes, he only knows Andrew’s brows furrow and he looks angry as he places a hand on Neil’s face. Not touching, just hovering, just covering. Then, he lowers it back to Neil’s crotch. Things kind of escalate from there.

When they’re done –when _Neil_ is done, because Andrew won’t let himself be touched, and that’s fine –Andrew lights a cigarette. Neil is left there, sated, for sure, but just as much confused. It’s the first time he let himself be touched like that by someone else. The first time he let himself be that much vulnerable, he didn’t think it would be like this. He finds himself hoping – _looking_ for contact, contact Andrew won’t give him. It’s part of his boundaries, Neil can’t argue with that, he won’t. Still, he wishes Andrew would at least look at him. Just as he’s about to open his mouth and say something –anything –Andrew throws his unfinished cigarette out of the car window.

“Well?” He asks, finally, finally turning his eyes on Neil. He knows how he must look, flushed, hair in disarray and pants barely buttoned. He must look like a mess, it makes him flush even more. Andrew’s jaw clenches.

“What?”

Andrew stares at him a beat too long, then he takes out another cigarette.

“You should be thankful you’re pretty.”

And that –that leaves Neil breathless. He doesn’t even register the insult, at first, because that last word keeps ringing in his ears. Andrew Minyard thinks he’s pretty, Andrew Minyard thinks he’s _pretty_ and then- then he does register the insult.

“Please,” he starts, anger rising steadily in his belly “I hardly doubt that bad guy thing you’ve got going on is hiding a brilliant mind. You want to know what I think? I think you’re nothing but a show-off, I think whatever people say about you is utter bullshit. I think you like them being afraid of you because it keeps you safe, you like being in control, I should know.”

Andrew looks at him, and looks and looks and looks.

“You don’t believe the rumors?”

Neil laughs, a bit mean. “Not a single one.”

Andrew raises a brow. “You don’t believe I’m a-“ he tsks “great fuck?” It’s obscene, the way he accentuates consonants, lips still parted even after he’s done talking. Neil’s bravado deflates at that, it’s as if he can still feel Andrew’s hands on him, fingers rough and steady. As if he can still feel his tongue slide against Neil’s, the sound of it, the wetness.

“You don’t believe I’ve used my knives on someone?” His voice has turned dark, suddenly. That is what it takes for Neil to get ahold of himself. He straightens, raises his head and –and Andrew’s eyes, for the shortest moment, glint with amusement. It’s fine, Neil likes being underestimated.

“I don’t believe you’d know how to even grip one.” He spits out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, he makes to get out of the car. As he’s gripping the handle, though, Andrew speaks up again.

“You’re supposed to be quiet.”

Neil doesn’t turn around, he opens the door and says: “you don’t know me.” Then, he’s out.

It all started at the beginning of the week, when Andrew picked up Aaron from school. Neil had insisted on walking home, it would help him clear his mind after a long day of classes, and Allison had accepted it, strangely enough, without making much of a fuss, leaving him and Aaron behind. They’d been walking out of the gate when Neil saw him, leaning onto his shiny Maserati, cigarette dangling from his fingers. This time, Andrew saw Neil as well. Time slowed, seconds ticking loudly, sounds muffled. Neil kept walking, Andrew kept looking, time stretched impossibly thin as Neil held his gaze and then. And then Andrew’s eyes turned to Aaron. And it was a matter of seconds before they were leaving, roaring car and all. That week, Andrew came to the Academy three times. _Three_. And he continued observing Neil, watching him as if he wanted to eat him. Neil’s cheeks were permanently on fire and, those times, Allison didn’t fail to notice. Her disapproving gaze burned holes into Neil, but he kept shrugging it off, kept telling her Andrew must have been still pissed form that time at Eden’s Twilight. She didn’t believe a single word and Neil didn’t care enough to argue his point. Besides, it was true. Someone like Andrew Minyard wouldn’t want someone like Neil. He knows he’s not bad-looking, but he looks a lot like his father and he looks a lot like someone people don’t notice. He looks a lot like someone who doesn’t get to be wanted by strong, confident, dangerous Andrew Minyard. So, Neil went on with his life, he kept thinking about Andrew’s hostile stare and words on Friday, about the way he’d looked and moved. This unfanthomable attraction, completely unexpected, was starting to take up a bit too much space in his mind.

_He’s going to break your heart._

_Neil’s not like those other stupid fucks_ , _are you Neil?_

It turned out, Neil was one of those stupid fucks. On Friday, when he was sent to get drinks with the excuse of being the only one sober, Andrew had looked at him long and hard before asking: “if I kissed you, would you know hot to keep your hands to yourself?” At that, Neil’s brain had kind of short-circuited, he’d stood there with his mouth open and not a single sound coming out of his lips. Andrew hadn’t waited much longer after that, he’d turned around and started serving someone else. And Neil was left there, speechless and confused. He’d went back to the others and spent the next hour staring at them, silent, and mulling over Andrew’s words. Andrew Minyard wanted to kiss him, he wanted to _kiss_ him. Of course Neil would know how to keep his hands to himself, he would never do anything Andrew didn’t want him to. He just –he just wanted to be kissed. He just wanted to kiss him, badly. He’d pressed a finger to his lips, back and forth, as if it could stop them from tingling and wanting and –and he’d stood up, mumbled something about going to the bathroom and walked straight to Andrew.

“Yes.” He’d said, just that. He must have seemed eager, far too eager and maybe even a little bit pathetic, but he couldn’t care less. Not when Andrew had raised one brow, dead eyes coming alive just the slightest bit, turned to the other barista and said: “I’m taking my break.”

***

The next time it happens, Neil promises himself it’ll never happen again. The next time it happens, it’s not casual. On Thursday night, at ten pm, Neil’s phone rings and it startles him enough that the book he’s been reading falls to the floor. Because Neil’s phone doesn’t ring, that’s just something that doesn’t happen unless uncle Stuart is abroad on business. When he checks the screen, Neil finds it’s an unknown number calling. For a moment, he debates not answering, but it’s a strange enough occurrence that he’s curious.

“Hello?”

There’s a few seconds of silence on the other side, but then someone speaks up. Neil would recognize that voice everywhere.

“Neil Josten,” says Andrew, “are you home?”

This is so weird and unexpected that it’s not even funny.

“I-yes.”

“I’m coming over, yes or no?”

Neil’s mind shuts down, just for the tiniest moment. It doesn’t make sense, why would Andrew want to see him, especially after the way he treated Neil last time? When he reduced him to nothing but a pretty face, which –well, Neil doesn’t really get it.

“You what?”

“I thought we’d already established you’re not as stupid as you look. I’m coming over, _yes or no_?”

They’d never established that, Neil wants to say, or maybe Andrew did and didn’t bother to share his opinions with him. He doesn’t say anything, though, next to Andrew he feels very dumb. Inexperienced.

“What for?”

Silence. Andrew doesn’t even seem to be breathing, he’s deadly quiet, so much that for a second Neil thinks the line went dead.

“I’ll take it as a no.”

And that- that doesn’t sit right with Neil. Inexplicably, he wants to see Andrew. He wants to understand, that’s why he can’t let the opportunity pass.

“No, wait. I mean yes. Yes.”

This time the line does go dead and Neil is left with no clue whatsoever how Andrew knows where he lives, when he’ll be there, why would he even bother coming all the way to Neil’s house. The fact that he is so easily traceable makes his stomach turn unpleasantly, he’s spent half of his life mastering the art of hiding and now a twenty year-old boy from nowhere knows exactly where to find him. Any day, any time. He blames his anxiety on that, even if Andrew coming over is what’s really making his heart beat this fast. His palms are sweaty. He doesn’t even know when or why it is that he started tidying up his room, as if he cares about what Andrew thinks, how he perceives him. (He does, that’s kind of the whole point). The last time he saw him, he’d left Andrew in his expensive car, shame burning hot in his stomach. When he’d gone back to Allison and Aaron and the others, nobody had said a thing. Dan had made some comment about him taking way too long, _did you get caught up in flirting with someone cute?_ He’d flushed, hard, and mumbled something about a long queue. None of them had seemed convinced, but none of them had even considered the possibility of him being with Andrew either. The sound of something hitting his window gets him out of his head, hard. There’s nothing good that his mind might associate with someone trying to break through his widow, his senses are on alert, his hands uselessly looking for his –for his gun. For the gun he used to keep tucked into the waistband of his jeans, the gun his mother had given him, thrust into his chest as she’d said: “you never let go of this, Abram, do you understand?” There is no danger this time, though, not when he’s safe at Uncle Stuart’s, in this forgotten town. Or maybe, danger has simply taken another form. Maybe danger, now, has blonde hair and blank eyes and a leather jacket.

When Neil opens the window, he finds Andrew waiting on the windowsill with a cigarette perched precariously behind his ear and black smudged under his eyes.

“Took you long enough.” He says, completely bypassing Neil as he jumps into his room. Andrew’s shoulder brushes against Neil’s, their eyes lock for the shortest of moments. Andrew’s piercings glint in the soft light of Neil’s room, the shadows it casts on his face only accentuate his strong features.

“How did you even…“ Trails off Neil, gesturing to the window.

Andrew doesn’t answer, he walks around the room as if he owns it, arrogant, hands trailing over Neil’s stuff. Some of his books lie messily on his desk, Andrew takes his time rearranging them neatly. By author, notices Neil.

“I climbed.” He says, at last. Calm and collected. _I climbed_ , simple as that. If he were anyone else, Neil would be impressed. There’s a camera on his library, it’s analogic, a few rolls and a few pictures he’s developed recently piled besides it. It doesn’t fail to get Andrew’s attention. He touches its edges, then brushes his fingers along the covered lenses. It feels like he’s touching Neil’s own body and he recoils slightly. Andrew’s eyes fly to him, quick and considering. He won’t talk any further.

“Why did you come here?” Asks Neil once Andrew’s stare starts weighting a bit too much.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Neil scoffs, a bit annoyed. A bit amused, actually. Andrew doesn’t falter.

“Take your clothes off, yes or no?”

Neil stares at him. And stares and stares. Of course that is the reason Andrew called him, deep down he’s known it since the moment his phone started ringing. It still doesn’t make Neil want it any less. Want _him_. So what if it’s nothing but a –a booty-call, people would say? Andrew is staring at him with the kind of intensity that makes him weak at the knees, the kind of fire that makes his heart beat faster and his mouth dry. His hands twitch, he wants to touch. He’s not allowed to. Andrew is staring at him and he’s wearing those ripped jeans and that black, tight t-shirt and Neil -Neil doesn’t even answer, he takes off his pants instead. Andrew recognizes it as the answer it is and walks to him, slowly. The last thing Neil says is: “not the shirt”. Because next, he moans.

When Andrew kisses him, deep and wet, his piercing pushes against Neil’s lips, hard and warm. The slide of his tongue inside Neil’s mouth will never fail to make him blush and something –some sort of sound comes out of him, then, completely unabashed and unapologetic. Andrew breaks the kiss to look at him, lips shining and swollen, eyes dark and intense as Neil’s never seen them. As no one has ever seen them.

“Shut up.” He says, but his voice is cracked and his hands travel down Neil’s body with the sole purpose of making him scream. He doesn’t, but he does moan. He moans when Andrew takes him into his hand and when he lays him on the bed and when he takes his time opening him up. So long and slow Neil thinks he might die.

“’Drew.” He drawls, words half caught on his tongue, heavy with the weight of pleasure. With the weight of Andrew on his body, torso framed by his thighs, so strong and warm Neil wants to melt under him. Maybe he is, maybe that’s why his body is so hot, why he feels like the only thing keeping him in place –still– is Andrew. And then, and then Andrew presses into him, blunt and full and different, so different from anything Neil has ever felt and –and he can’t hold himself back. The keening sound that tumbles out of his lips is unexpected and too loud for the silence of the room, Andrew stops. And no, no.

“Andrew.” He whines. He’s looking at him, Andrew. One hand holding Neil’s wrists above his head, the other resting on his thigh. Neil is acutely aware of every part of his body, every inch of skin pressed against Andrew’s clothes. Because Andrew didn’t take his shirt off, nor his pants. There is something undeniably hot about the sight of Andrew’s unbuttoned jeans, the feeling of them grazing against Neil’s thigh where they’re connected. Where Neil’s stretched and Andrew’s so unbelievably hard and-

“Neil.” He says, firm. “Yes or no?”

Neil looks at him, he feels dazed, out of it. He feels confused, because why would he ever say no? Why would he ever want to renounce feeling like this, like he’s never felt before? Is it _supposed_ to feel like this, does it _always_ feel like this? So intense, so good.

“I –yes, yes, yes-“

That seems to answer Andrew’s question plenty, because he looks at Neil like he’s never done before and promptly shuts him up. First with a kiss and then with a tentative thrust. And then another, and another and another. After, Neil will think about the rumors, about people saying that fucking Andrew Minyard is hot and fast and rough. And he won’t understand. Because, right now, fucking Andrew is slow and it’s deep and his hands are uncharacteristically gentle. It’s long, hazy, Neil kind of loses himself. He loses track of time and fails to register any other noise that isn’t Andrew’s shallow breaths and sporadic, repressed moans. He fails to register the sound of the headboard slamming against the wall, rhythmic and telling. When he comes, with Andrew’s hand on him and his wrists above his head of their own volition, it takes him by surprise. It’s nothing like what he’s used to, it’s new and relieving and good. Just plain good. As good as the moment Andrew goes still, body rigid, buried inside him. Breath itching against Neil’s neck, knuckles white where he’s gripping the sheets. Neil doesn’t get to see his face and that’s okay, that’s okay because even like this it’s more than he could have ever expected. When they’d been together in Andrew’s Maserati everything had been different, rushed. Still hot, still eye-opening, but it could never, ever compare to what has just happened. They’re silent, after, for quite a while. Another difference. No jabs, no sly comments and uneasy glares. They just lie there, on Neil’s rumpled sheets, breathing. Neil is a bit shocked, to be completely honest, he looks at the ceiling and tries to make sense of what has happened. How right it felt, how –how cathartic. How special. Is it normal, he asks himself, to feel like this when he doesn’t even know Andrew, not really? Neil’s not –he has never had the chance to learn about this stuff. What if he’s too much? What if this connection, this whatever it is only goes one way? Of course it does, he should have never expected anything different.

_He takes home a different guy every night and doesn’t bother acknowledging their existence when they come back for more. He’s not worth it._

But what if he is, what if feeling like this makes it all worth it? The shame, the humiliation of being ignored like he is right now, when Andrew unceremoniously throws the condom in the bin, zips up his pants and slides into his leather jacket. He stops with his back to Neil, just for a few seconds. The lines of his back are tense, his hands balled into fists. Neil wishes he could read his mind.

“Andrew.” He says, he doesn’t even know why. He has nothing to say. Actually, he does have something to say, he has everything to say but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how he could ever explain what it is that he’s felling. Does Andrew feel it, too?

“What?” He turns around, looks at Neil spread out on the bed, still naked from the waist down. Then, he adverts his eyes. The words don’t come out. Andrew regains his composure.

“You really aren’t quiet, are you?” It’s not the same as it was in the car, it’s scorning, Andrew’s tone is off. It makes Neil’s stomach clench, his mouth goes dry. He feels –he feels embarrassed.

“I told you already,” he croaks out, “you don’t know me.”

Andrew’s eyes go back to him, blank, once again. Nothing like the way he looked above him.

“Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

And so he leaves the same way he came in, and Neil sits up onto his bed and tries to make sense of this weight –heavy, suffocating –that’s spreading all over his chest. _Never again_ , he thinks _, never again_. 

***

Neil spends the weekend holed up in his room, when Allison invites him out he declines and doesn’t bother keeping his phone on for her complaints. Aaron sends him a text on Sunday, asking how his project is going. Two things become very apparent at that: one, Neil had completely forgotten about the project; two, he doesn’t think he can face Aaron ever again. The superficial relationship between them has made it so that Aaron’s thoughts about his brother and they way he’s talked about in town were never discussed. That night at Eden’s Twilight, though, made it more than clear what Aaron thinks about the rumors. About those people who want a piece of Andrew and maybe even more than one, they want to bite him, chew him and spit him out when they find he’s nothing like what hey imagined. That’s what Aaron thinks, that’s what he’ll think of Neil when he finds out what happened. Except, he won’t. Neil will keep his mouth shut and Andrew certainly doesn’t seem to be someone who brags about his conquests, especially to Aaron. His brother, his twin. At first, Neil thinks he’ll never be able to face Aaron again because of that. Because of the resemblance. That, seeing him, his thoughts won’t be stopped and the only thing in his mind, replaying like broken record, will be that night with Andrew. It’s not. Aaron and Andrew couldn’t be any more different. At the Academy, Aaron is waiting for him by their usual spot, Allison besides him, and he looks –he looks just like he always does. He looks like himself. Neil’s brain doesn’t stop working and their usual, altered conversation flows easily. It’s a relief, so powerful Neil’s knees almost buckle. You see, over time Aaron has come to mean something to him. He’s a friend, something Neil has never had. And he’s abrasive and he’s an asshole, and Neil likes him. He understands what it’s like to be an outsider, to be alone. To want to be left alone. Aaron is someone Neil doesn’t really want to let go of, now that he’s settled and safe. Now that he can let himself be known, just a little bit. He’ll lose him, though, if the truth ever came out. Aaron had sounded so sure, so doubtless that Neil would never be like them. The others. The countless people who must have tried to befriend him just to get to Andrew, who used him and dumped him when they got what they wanted. Neil would never do that, he _hasn’t_ done that. It just –it just happened and now Neil has one more secret to keep. One more secret.

Andrew doesn’t show up at the Academy anymore and Aaron doesn’t fail to express his annoyance.

“I mean, he knows that taking the bus home makes me lose more than half an hour of study time and he’s always picked me up whenever he could.”

“Maybe he’s busy.” Mumbles Neil, heart beating fast and hard against his ribcage. Aaron shakes his head.

“I know his schedule, he’s just being an asshole. Ever since last week he’s been a real, fucking asshole.”

“That’s what brothers are for, baby monster.” Pipes up Allison. “Right, Neil?”

He swallows, keeps his eyes on his shoes. There’s an edge to her voice and Neil doesn’t know if it’s guilt that’s making him imagine things, or if Allison can truly, actually read his mind.

“I wouldn’t know.”

That weekend, Neil doesn’t get the chance to refuse Allison’s invite to Eden’s Twilight. She says the others miss him, as if they didn’t meet him for a total of two times. As if they really care about him hanging out with them, about his presence. That goes far beyond Andrew being there or not, it’s his chance at a normal life. It makes him warm inside, thinking that someone other than uncle Stuart might want him to be a part of their life. So he goes, he forgoes the clothes he bought with Allison in favor of his usual jeans and oversized hoodie and pretends he can’t hear her affronted gasp. It was a mistake, dressing like that and pretending to be someone he’s not. He’s been doing that his whole life and he’s tired, some tight, fashionable clothes won’t make him into someone who drinks and dances and kisses a boy like Andrew Minyard. There’s no point faking it.

At the bar, they all seem genuinely happy he came, as if his absence was _felt_. Except for Kevin, of course, and someone named Seth who’s apparently Allison’s on and off boyfriend. Seth, with his tattoos and his dark clothes, seems like the only person Andrew would associate with inside this group. Except, Seth is very explicit about his dislike for him and so are Dan and Matt. Nicky and Aaron are family, they don’t count –at least that’s what Allison says –while Kevin and Renee have never expressed an opinion about Andrew. Why they even consider him part of their group, Neil has no idea. He is, though, because whenever he takes a break from the bar, he simply comes to their table, takes a seat and silently sips his drink. That’s what Allison says. And it’s true. That night, while Aaron and him are discussing their project as the others make jabs at their posh school, Andrew does just that. Nobody greets him, Neil barely even realizes he’s arrived until he says:

“What is he doing here?”

He look up, then, only to find Andrew’s blank stare on him.

“What the fuck is your-“ Starts Matt, but Neil doesn’t want anybody fighting his battles for him.

“Same thing as you.” He interrupts him, voice hard and unwavering. It doesn’t matter, he could have said whatever or kept silent, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that Andrew has started ignoring him before he could even open his mouth, head turned and attention completely on Kevin and whatever he’s saying. Neil feels himself bristle. He also feels kind of small.

“What did you do to him?” Asks him Dan, her question lost amidst the conversation going on at the other end of the table.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t look at me.” Says Nicky, hands up in surrender, when Dan turns to him. “He barely ever talks to anyone, this is new.”

So this is how it’s going to be, as if it never happened. As if it wasn’t Andrew who looked for him, who told him to take his pants off, who came inside him. Shuddering. Neil would like to say it’s fine, but it’s not. It’s convenient, for the both of them, but it’s not fine. Because Neil couldn’t have been the only one, the only one who felt it. The connection, the –the spark. The way they fit together so perfectly, jagged edges drawing blood on the both of them. The way Andrew noticed Neil’s scars, inevitably, even with his shirt on, and didn’t say a thing. Didn’t look at him any differently. The way he let go of Neil’s wrists, trusting him to keep his hands to himself. The way Neil did. But maybe he was the only one. Maybe the rumors are true and Andrew Minyard likes his boys replaceable. Temporary.

“-Neil, Neil.” It takes him a while to register Aaron calling his name.

“Sorry,” he says, “what?”

“I said, have you decided on a subject?”

Neil’s brain is only half there, he’s keenly aware of Andrew’s presence at table and his rigorously adverted stare.

“A subject for what?”

Aaron looks at him oddly and makes a face, as if Neil’s being stupid. He supposes, he kind of is.

“The project, we’ve been talking about it for the past twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” says Neil, “yes. No, I mean, no I haven’t.”

“You should invite us.” Pipes up Matt. He means the exhibition, the one at the end of the year where all their projects will be laid bare for everyone to see, or criticize, whatever. It’s the least of Neil’s worries, right now. He nods absentmindedly and the night drags on. What Neil doesn’t notice are Andrew’s knuckles, white from exertion, wrapped around his own chair and tightening, tightening, tightening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter! Also, I'm sorry :)

Days pass, weeks, and Neil keeps living his life. He keeps seeing Aaron ad Allison, he keeps studying and trying to come up with at least one, one stupid idea for this damn project. He keeps going to Eden’s Twilight and laughing with Dan and Matt and even Nicky, and feeling light. Feeling happy and young. He keeps pretending Andrew isn’t downright ignoring him, that that night was only a dream. Except it wasn’t, except it was much more.

This evening he has a party to attend, some sort of gala-thing uncle Stuart wants to drag him to and he just won’t take no for an answer. It’s alright, Neil supposes it could be worst, plus he has agreed to attend at least a few of them over the year. He promised, Neil doesn’t go back on his promises. The party is at a hotel downtown, lavish and trendy, just like the people attending it. Expensive jewels and expensive watches, a chandelier and lots of alcohol. Neil spots a few guys from the Academy, but keeps his distance standing in the corner of the ballroom with a glass of soda in his hands. He thinks people forget he’s even there, after the first round of introductions, it happens every time. That’s okay, that’s good. It’s also very boring, that’s why most of the time he wanders off by himself. He explores, looks for any kind of exit route.

Time passes by slowly, every now and then someone recognizes him as Stuart’s nephew and makes idle conversation. He tries to get out of those as fast as he can. It’s probably better to avoid contact in the first place, it’s probably better to leave the room and find a quiet spot to spend the last hours in peace. That’s what Neil does as he ends up in an empty conference room, the lights are off and there is big set of French doors leading to a balcony. As soon as he steps out, he can finally breathe. The view is amazing, that’s very much expected since the hotel is the most (and only) famous and expensive in town. Neil can finally take off his jacket, loosen his tie. He stands there, elbows on the edge of the balcony and eyes closed. Breathing. He is fine. And safe and alone and that’s exactly why he jumps half a foot in the air when he hears the door behind him open.

Andrew looks nothing like himself in a white shirt and red bowtie, hair slicked back and tattoos covered. No trace of earrings and no sunglasses to hide his bored, apathetic expression. If he’s surprised to see Neil, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even say anything as he steps into the night and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. It’s the waiters uniform, the one Andrew’s wearing. Neil has seen them float around the room, quiet and unobserved, with polite smiles and trays filled with glasses of champagne. He hadn’t noticed this one particular waiter, though, not until now.

“Hi.”

It takes Neil a few seconds to realize he’s the one who’s spoken out loud. His face feels warm. That’s when Andrew seems to realize he is actually there, as if he’s seeing him for the first time. His hazel eyes catalogue every inch of Neil’s body, head to toe, languid. He still doesn’t say a word, cigarette dangling from his lips in a stupid James Dean way that Neil wouldn’t even recognize if it wasn’t for Miss Wright’s taste in films. It’s infuriating. It’s hot.

“You work here.” Says Neil. Andrew Minyard doesn’t laugh, ever (that’s something people say about him), but Neil could swear his lips lift in that exact moment. Just a tiny bit, hidden by the dark of the night.

“Very astute observation.” Then, “your fancy school doesn’t pay itself.” He takes a drag, then another. Neil’s face gets warmer and warmer.

“I thought Aaron had a scholarship.” Andrew throws his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, doesn’t even bother stepping on it before he says:

“Let’s stop talking about Aaron, yes?” He takes a step forward, then, and another and another until he’s right in front of Neil. “Do you want to go somewhere, when this is over?”

And that –that he just can’t do. He doesn’t get to treat Neil like shit, to outright ignore him in front of everyone just to invite somewhere out of the blue. As if they’re friends. Neil tells him exactly that. He can tell by the way Andrew’s jaw tightens, that he didn’t expect this. He takes a step back, Neil can’t smell his cologne anymore. He should be grateful, he doesn’t know what he is.

“When is it, exactly, that I gave you the impression of _not_ being an asshole?” He asks, as if he’s talking about the weather, as if he’s not fucking infuriating.

“When is it, exactly,” starts Neil, “that I gave you the impression of deserving anything less than respect.”

Andrew raises his brows. “You didn’t and I didn’t treat you without respect. Stop lying, I hate it and you do that a lot.”

So maybe Andrew’s right, maybe respect isn’t the right word for it, but it still doesn’t excuse his behavior.

“I don’t li-“

“Didn’t they warn you about me?” Interrupts him Andrew. Neil’s mouth snaps shut, he doesn’t answer. “Didn’t they?”

“They did.” He admits through gritted teeth.

“Then you knew, when we fucked, that I want nothing. That I’m a –that I use boys and then discard them like trash?” And that, that doesn’t sit right with Neil.

“Do you, though?” He presses. “Do you? Because it seems to me that you rely on what people say about you, you don’t bother denying nor confirming any rumor. You just like them making assumptions, because then you won’t have to show the real you.”

“Bzz. Wrong, I don’t care.” Grits out Andrew. “You don’t know me.” He says, then, a mockery of Neil’s words.

“You’re right, I don’t, then why are you asking me out?”

That shuts Andrew up, at least for a few seconds. And then he’s on Neil, right into his personal space, a hand on his throat. Not pushing, just resting. A threat, or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s an anchor. His lips part an inch away from Neil’s own.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Neil swallows, his throat moves against Andrew’s hand.

“Because I know scary. Because I know mean, I know cruel, deranged. You’re nothing of those things.”

Andrew doesn’t let go, his grip tightens just the slightest bit. And Neil doesn’t waver.

“You said you hate lying, that means you don’t. So, tell me, tell me you didn’t feel it that night.”

He knows, of course he knows what Neil’s talking about, and he doesn’t play stupid. It wouldn’t suit him. He regards him, instead, his fingers still wrapped around Neil’s throat, and doesn’t deny it. Neil feels his lips stretch into a smile, a bit smug, a bit daring. Andrew’s hand leaves his throat and moves to cover his mouth.

“Are you coming later, or not?”

Neil nods.

***

He is in Andrew’s Maserati, still in his suit while Andrew’s changed, and has no idea where they’re going. It should worry him, it should make the hair at the back of his neck stand, but it doesn’t. If this isn’t telling, Neil doesn’t know what could be. They don’t drive for long, just enough to get out of town and into the infinite wasteland that surrounds it. It’s dark and the roads are bumpy, mostly not asphalted. A Maserati isn’t the kind of car that survives trips like this unscratched, but Andrew doesn’t seem to be worrying about it. _This_ , thinks Neil, _is where I’d come to kill someone_.

“I’m not going to fucking murder you.” Sighs Andrew, as if he can read his mind.

“Then why are we here?”

“You’ll see.” Enigmatic as ever, but Neil believes him. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. After a while, Neil finally spots some lights in the distance. They turn out to be headlights, coming from another five or six cars parked in some sort of open space in the middle of nowhere. There’s people sitting on them or just standing around, a fire burning bright and music blaring from some car speakers.

“What’s this?” Asks Neil, once they’re parked. Andrew doesn’t answer, instead he says: “get out” and proceeds to do just that. Neil, left in the car, ditches his tie and follows him out. People greet Andrew with a few nods and words, none of them approach him. There’s one particular guy, though, who goes straight for him.

“Minyard, nice to see you again.”

Andrew’s posture changes, he stiffens and squares his shoulders. This is not a friend, then.

“Can’t say the same, Riko.” And with that, Andrew simply walks by. Riko isn’t a big man, he’s taller than Andrew, but that doesn’t mean much, and he’s taller than Neil, that also doesn’t mean much. One thing that’s certain, he couldn’t hold his own in a fight against Andrew. Neil’s seen him, he’s lain under him and felt the strength of his body. Andrew looks like someone who hits the gym regularly. Still, Riko doesn’t seem to know how to let go. He opens his mouth, ready to speak right back, and then he sees Neil. He smiles, something uneasy and oddly pleased.

“Who’s your new boyfriend?”

That gets a lot more attention than it should, Neil feels all those people’s eyes on him almost immediately. Suddenly, he feels very aware of his suit, of the fact that he’s dressed to the nines while these people are wearing ripped jeans and leather jackets and combat boots.

“He’s no one.” Says Andrew, voice steady, giving nothing away. He’s not lying, Neil _is_ no one. He’s nothing. As he speaks, Andrew turns to him, assessing, a brow raised as if to say 'can you stand your own, or do I have to babysit you?' Neil looks at him with narrowed eyes, then turns to Riko.

“I’m Neil.” He says. “The real question is who are you.”

Someone laughs at that, it gets lost in the silence of the night. It seems as if everyone has stopped whatever they were doing to attend the show. Riko walks to him until he’s so close Nail can smell him. Besides them, Andrew makes some kind of aborted motion, but seems to think better of it and keeps still.

“My name is Riko Moriyama.” He says it with the kind of arrogance typical of someone who’s used to being recognized. That’s exactly why Neil says:

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

A few more scattered laughs, someone wolf-whistles. _See, Andrew, I can hold my own_. Riko’s jaw twitches, his eyes narrow. And then, he smiles again. And changes tactics.

“So, what’s a pretty thing like you,” he starts, a hand coming to tug on Neil’s jacket, “doing with a rabid dog like Minyard?”

Neil recoils, he can’t help it. He doesn’t like it when strangers touch him, much less someone like Riko Moriyama, who looks like a sociopath at best. Andrew is by his side in a matter of seconds, maybe even less. Something flutters in Neil’s chest.

“Don’t touch my things, Riko.” He says, calm. Deadly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have brought him here.”

“We’re here to race, aren’t we?”

 _Race_? Neil should have figured as much. The open space, the deserted roads, bad illumination. Fast cars.

“How about a bet?" Smiles Riko. “You win, I’ll stop bothering pretty boy here. But if I win, I get to take him home.”

Neil’s heart kind of stops, this is something Andrew Minyard would do. Dangerous, bad boy Andrew Minyard with his fast car and his knives. This is something people wouldn’t hesitate to believe about him, a rumor that would spread like fire. But Neil is starting to suspect Andrew is nothing like those people make him out to be.

“No.” He says, immediate.

“Are you afraid you’ll lose?” Presses Riko.

“No. I don’t bet and Neil’s his own person, ask him.”

Riko doesn’t even manage to turn his head fully towards him before Neil speaks up.

“Fuck off, I wouldn’t go home with you if you were the last man on Earth. The sole thought of you touching me makes me want to throw up. You’re nothing but a slippery coward and, frankly, the shit you just pulled should be enough to put you in jail.”

Luckily, or maybe not, Neil doesn’t get to face the consequences of his actions, because the deafening sound of a horn being blown into a megaphone echoes in the night. Amidst it all, Neil could swear he hears Andrew snort.

“It’s time!” Someone calls out. There’s a bit of chaos, then, people walking one way or the other, getting cars started and taking out flags made of t-shirts. Riko looks at Neil with all the hatred he can master before turning around and making his way to his car, something sleek and expensive just as much as Andrew’s. Maybe even more.

“Are you coming?” Asks him Andrew, when Neil turns to look at him there’s an odd expression on his face. It’s incredible, the way he looks so apathetic all of the time and then, out of the blue, can morph his features into something extremely expressive.

“What?” He asks, a bit dumb.

“You can stay here with the others or you can race with me. We’re allowed one passenger, though usually no one’s stupid enough o agree.”

It’s a challenge and Neil accepts it.

It starts feeling like a bad idea the second the flags are waved and Andrew presses the pedal so hard the only thing Neil can see behind them is dust. This might be a bad idea, but Neil has never felt so free. The car is picking up speed so fast and swiftly that it makes Neil’s stomach drop, the engine roaring. Sounding sweet, sounding dangerous. Neil barely even registers the other cars, he can’t take his eyes off Andrew. Andrew, who looks wild behind the wheel, who looks alive and thriving and so _cool_. He is just _so cool_. Clenched jaw and hair coming undone after he gelled them up for the gala, a solitary strand falling onto his forehead. Neil wants to reach out and push it back and kiss him with an intensity that he can’t tame, the car vibrates under him and it’s so –so euphoric, this feeling. Freeing. He wants to scream. He thinks maybe he is, he thinks maybe at the speed they’re going sound won’t even catch up to them. By his side, Andrew is focused, his grip on the wheel iron. He makes a turn and the car swirls so fast Neil’s whole body crashes against the door.

“Having fun?” Asks Andrew, he almost shouts it to be heard over the sounds of the race. Neil knows he’s smiling, big. He knows he must look just as wild, eyes alight and pumped up on adrenaline. Blood pumping frantically, heart beating so hard it must be bruising his ribcage. Andrew can’t see him, won’t take his eyes off the road.

“Yeah.” He shouts.

“Then you’ll like this.” And then, Andrew _accelerates_. Neil doesn’t even know how it’s possible for the Maserati to go even faster, but it is. It is and Andrew enjoys it like Neil has never seen him. It hits him like a punch in the gut, the realization that he’s trusting Andrew. He’s trusting him like he’s only ever trusted one other person and it should be scary, it should be impossible and alarming, but it’s not. He has never felt so good, maybe only underneath him.

They must be following some sort of track, driven over and over again. The car runs smoothly enough and Andrew knows exactly where to go, when to steer and when to turn. There’s only one car in front of them, it’s Riko’s. Neil has no doubt Andrew won’t stand for it, he is a winner in every sense of the word. He won’t give into Riko. And he doesn’t, not when he pushes the Maserati to its limit, not when he starts passing him with a move so risky, so dangerous that Neil feels his eyes close automatically. He feels the car go faster and faster and faster and –and nothing happens, nothing crashes. They’re in front of Riko, they’ve made it. Andrew exercises control over the Maserati the same way he does over everything else, every part of his life. It makes him steady, reliable, something no one would ever think of him. Except Neil, because Neil thinks if he were to lean on him, with all of his baggage and his secrets and his scars, Andrew would hold him up.

When they reach the finish line, fast and first, Andrew starts slowing down, but he doesn’t stop. Out of the window, Neil sees people cheering, exchanging money, but Andrew doesn’t seem to care. Once he’s reached a reasonable pace, he drives right back where they came from, back to town. On the review mirror, hidden in the dust, Neil watches Riko slam the door of his car and kick it. He smiles.

Andrew takes him home, the ride is quiet. Neil doesn’t really know what to say, the thrill of the race is still making his blood buzz, he feels the same way he does after a long run. Maybe it was the illegality of it all, but Neil is used to worse. Way worse. The nagging thought at the back of his head, telling him that it’s Andrew, it’s always Andrew, won’t stop bothering him. Maybe he should let it.

The car stops in front of the mansion, Andrew kills the engine. Uncle Stuart must be already home and asleep, the lights are off. Lately, he never says a word about Neil’s escapades, he just smiles, smug and pleased. He’s happy Neil is making friends, after everything. If only he knew about Andrew, about the racing.

“Why did you take me with you?” Neil’s voice is loud in the silence of the car, it breaks it like a ice. Andrew looks at him, something he does a lot, and takes his time before answering.

“I,” he starts, as if Neil’s ripping the words out of him, “don’t know.”

Neil takes it as the lost cause it is and changes the subject.

“That Riko is a real prick.” Once again, Andrew’s permanently furrowed brows smooth into something resembling amusement, he makes a noise of assent.

“You said you don’t bet, then why do you race? It’s risky, it’s illegal, you could die. What do you get out of it?”

Andrew laughs, and it’s hollow and mocking.

“Didn’t you hear? I like danger, I live for it. It suits my aesthetic.” Neil rolls his eyes.

“Tell me something true.” At those words, Andrew’s face turns somber.

“You’re the liar, not me.”

“Then prove it.”

Andrew’s grip on the wheel tightens, he clenches his teeth. He doesn’t look at Neil when he says:

“It makes me feel. The speed, the fear of crashing.”

Neil thinks about that, about Andrew Minyard with his manic smile and his knives. About Andrew Minyard with his dead eyes and blank expression. And he thinks about Andrew, eyes wild as he drives so fast he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. As the engine roars below his feet and his body almost trembles in time with it.

“None of the things they say about you are true, are they?” His voice is lower, now, almost a whisper. He doesn’t know why, it just feels right.

“Some of them are.” Says Andrew, quick, unthinking.

Neil can’t help himself, he blurts out: “can I kiss you?” and then flushes. Andrew, incredibly, looks a bit taken aback. “Andrew, yes or no?”

Andrew’s answer comes with his lips on Neil and this time it is hard and rough, biting, teeth clashing. Andrew’s hand in his hair, pulling just enough to draw a small sound out of Neil. This time, Andrew doesn’t stop. He kisses Neil breathless and then some more.

“Do you-“ pants Neil, “do you want to come up?” It takes Andrew a second to get out of the car.

They don’t rush to the house, inside, they don’t rush up the stairs and into Neil’s room. They walk, take their time. Neil could burst with desire, he feels Andrew’s stare on his back as he climbs the stairs and it’s lighting him on fire. Once they’re in his room, Andrew wastes no time slamming him against the wall and kissing him stupid. A thigh slot in between his own, hands on his waist while Neil keeps his hidden behind his back. Andrew’s lips on his collarbone make him shudder, the first buttons of his shirt undone. And then the only thing he can see are Andrew’s eyes, looking at him so steadily, so deep that Neil says: “take it off.” He means his shirt, Andrew knows it. If he’s surprised by Neil’s words, he doesn’t show it, instead he takes his time working on the buttons, as if giving Neil time to go back on his choice. He won’t. Hi scars are numerous, big and small. And ugly. He’s very conscious of them, of Andrew’s eyes taking it all in, of his fingers tracing their shapes. Neil thinks he’s trembling a bit, he’s not sure.

“Someone shot you.” Says Andrew, low and raspy.

“I told you, I know scary.”

Andrew’s scars aren’t as obvious, especially when covered by the fine lines of his tattoos, but they’re real. They’re proof and they must have hurt, and Andrew doesn’t hide them. That’s not what the tattoos are about, if he wanted to hide them he’d be efficient about it. No, Andrew lets them all see.

“Me too.” He says, a confession. It’s so uncharacteristic that Neil’s head snaps up immediately.

“You’re Andrew Minyard.”

“I’m Andrew.”

Maybe there really is two of them, one for the world and one for himself. For Neil? No, he’s not special, he’s not important. He’s just another boy infatuated with him, another boy to fuck and leave behind. Except he hasn’t exactly done that, he came back for Neil. So what is it, what is the truth? Who _is_ Andrew Minyard? It’s too much, definitely too much for Andrew’s tastes because his expression closes off. His hands abandon Neil’s scars and splay themselves on the curve of his ass.

“I want to fuck you, yes or no?”

Neil doesn’t hesitate, he shuts his mind off and nods, lip caught between his teeth. Andrew’s eyes follow the motion, red rises on his cheeks as he stares at Neil’s mouth with the kind of hunger that sets the room on fire. And so, right then and there, Andrew picks him up effortlessly. Neil can’t suppress the surprised noise that escapes his lips, the incredulity of it all. The feeling of Andrew’s strong arms taught under the weight of his body, Neil’s legs wrapped around him reflexively, tight. He feels him trough his pants, hot and hard against him, and can’t stop himself from lifting his hips. Just a tad bit, just enough to feel the friction of it all. He moans. And Andrew doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go when he slips two fingers inside him, and then three. When he trades them for his cock, thrusting so deep Neil thinks he’ll never be able to feel anything else. Anything but this, him. He doesn’t let go when he comes, biting into Neil’s neck, trembling. He holds him up, he holds him there, steady and so, so strong. He won’t let him fall, never, thinks Neil. He thinks he’s never felt so safe before.

But Andrew does let go, at last. Neil’s feet hit the ground, his legs shake and he slides against the wall until he hits the ground.

“That was-“ He stops, can’t find the words. Andrew neither, apparently, because he looks at Neil, undecipherable, for one more second before he disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back, Neil is exactly where he left him, he doesn’t think his legs will hold him up if he tried to move.

“You look pathetic down there.” He says, but there is no heat behind his words, not that carefully collected venom of his. Neil laughs.

“Yeah, well, you look like an asshole.”

“Should I take it as a compliment, or should I worry about the lack of variety in your vocabulary?”

“Oh, I have plenty of insults if you-“

“Get up.” Interrupts him Andrew, like he always does. Sometimes he’s so arrogant Neil wants to punch him in the face, but he does get up. Just to prove he can, just to prove Andrew doesn’t have the power of reducing him to nothing but jelly legs with a mind-blowing orgasm. Or maybe he does.

“You can leave through the door, this time.” He says once he’s standing. He makes his way to the bed, sits on it. There is something a bit humiliating at being left alone right after, he can’t quite make himself look at Andrew in the eyes.

“Do you want me to?”

And that, that comes as a surprise. Andrew’s standing there, perfectly collected, no evidence of what has just happened except for the fact that he’s only in his underwear and t-shirt. His body is unmarked, his breathing controlled. Even his hair isn’t in disarray. Neil knows how he must look, as opposed to him, with his curls all messed up and his neck bruised and lips red and raw. This is how it is, he’s nothing but a speckle in Andrew’s life. Another stop along the way. While Andrew –Andrew is a fucking crack in the middle of the road. Still, that question. For a second, Neil thinks he must be playing him, some sort of sick joke to hear Neil say that no, no he doesn’t want him to go, just to do exactly that in response. It’s fleeting though, because there is a part of Neil that doesn’t believe one second of Andrew’s uncaring act.

“No.” He admits.

“Do you want me to stay?” Bites back Andrew.

“Only if you want to.”

That night, Neil falls asleep with Andrew by his side.

***

It happens again, and again and again. In the morning, Andrew is never there, until he is. At first, Neil wakes up to the rustling of sheets and the sounds of someone moving around. He’s used to being alert, he’ll never be able to sleep through something so obvious. Still, he pretends he doesn’t notice, that Andrew gets away with it every time. He doesn’t really understand what it is that makes being there in the morning so different from spending the night. So much riskier. And then, one day, he wakes up and Andrew is there. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed on his chest.

“Hey.” Croaks out Neil, sleepy. It’s raining outside, the light of morning is cold and white and spread over half of Andrew’s face. He looks softer, like this. His lashes are very long.

“This doesn’t mean anything.” Says Andrew, again. He says that a lot. Before they fuck, after they fuck, when he lies down to sleep. Neil knows, he tells him just that and Andrew nods, satisfied. Of course it doesn’t mean anything, Neil isn’t delusional. He’s a masochist, that’s for sure. He takes it all, the distance, the glances, the unspoken words. The warmth of the bed, once Andrew’s gone. The hiding. He takes it all because it’s worth it, it’s worth having Andrew for a few hours. Neil never thought someone could become such a fundamental part of his life, that he could ever feel someone’s absence so strongly. It’s not just about sex, they talk. They talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and ice cream flavors, and they talk about secret things like Neil’s nightmares and Andrew’s violence. He is aware of it, Andrew, of his tendency towards aggressiveness. There is also a reason for it, one that he won’t disclose. It’s fine, it’s all more than fine. Having someone who understands, someone who looks at his scars with anger rather than pity. Someone who doesn’t cower away in fear when Neil talks about stitching up his own wounds and shooting blind behind himself. Still, there is a line. A line Andrew’s drawn and never surpassed. Lately, its borders look very blurry to Neil. Lately, Neil is starting to wonder what the hell they’re doing, what is the purpose of it all. Sometimes, during the bad days, when Neil is sitting at the table and everyone around him is laughing and talking and Andrew won’t look at him, he thinks maybe Andrew is ashamed. Of Neil. Of course, he notices.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew’s hands still where they’re working on Neil’s belt.

“Nothing.” Now, Andrew’s hands disappear completely.

“I won’t do this when you’re like this.”

Neil scoffs. “Like what?” He asks, all venom. Andrew ignores his jab.

“What’s wrong?”

Neil sighs, debates not answering and continuing to play dumb. He’s bared himself in front of Andrew already, he’s told him things he’s never told anyone else. This, though, this is different. This is vulnerable because it’s something he’s never had to fear before.

“Are you –are you ashamed of me?”

“Neil.” A warning.

“You don’t get to ask me questions and get defensive when you don’t like the answer.” It’s anger, this hot bubble inflating steadily in his chest.

“I’m not defensive.” Says Andrew, calm. And then, an odd expression on his face, “I thought you understood.”

“Understood what?” Starts Neil, his voice is raised. There is an undertone of desperation in it, hysterics. He hopes Andrew doesn’t notice. “That this is nothing but sex? Sorry, I got kind of confused when we started talking about traumas.”

“There is no this.” Grits out Andrew, Neil has never heard him like this.

“Fuck you, Andrew.” He’s fully angry now, can’t control his words, they just come spilling out. Andrew, though, Andrew who’s usually quiet, who’s serious and stony, has never sounded so mean.

“That’s the point.”

Neil laughs, cold, unforgiving. The smile, self-deprecating, stays on his lips as he looks at Andrew.

“You’re right, you never led me on. I was just –just stupid enough to think I could be different.” And that’s it, that’s just what it is. He knew, he’d been warned and he’d insisted because being with Andrew is different from anything he’s experienced before. If it feels so different to him, it must be the same for Andrew. Andrew, who told him things, who confided in him. That’s not something one does with just anyone, or maybe it is. Maybe that’s what Andrew does and Neil has fooled himself into believing he could be different from all the others, but he isn’t. Andrew disagrees.

“You are.”

He feels the words in his chest first, as if it all stops for a second –his heart, his breathing. Then, he feels them in his stomach. It makes him nauseous.

“Andrew.” _You can’t, you can’t do this_ , he wants to say. He doesn’t, Andrew knows anyway. Just like he always does.

“I don’t do what they say.” He blurts out. “I don’t fuck a new man every night. Someone saw me disappear in the storage room at Eden’s with Roland and they just –assumed.”

“There’s people saying they slept with you.” Says Neil, careful. Andrew looks at him dead on.

“People, not me. I hate liars.”

“You hate me.” A fact.

“Every inch of you, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.”

It punches a laugh out f Neil, genuine this time, amused.

“Yeah, I noticed that.” And just like that, the tension deflates.

It doesn’t change a thing, except it changes everything. Neil’s perception of Andrew, Andrew’s approach to this –whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t. Neil gets to photograph him, sometimes, when he’s feeling magnanimous, says Andrew. As he lies on Neil’s bed, skin bare, tattoos standing out in between the white sheets. They’re not only on his arms, there’s black over his torso, over his back. He’s beautiful, thinks Neil, and finds himself blushing at the thought. Everyone knows Andrew is hot and nobody bothers hiding it, but like this he is so much more. There’s this one photograph Neil likes the most, where Andrew’s just like that, in his bed, hair in disarray. And he’s looking straight into the camera. It’s not the blank stare, it’s not the hot way he looks at Neil when he’s taking off his clothes. It’s something different, softer. More intimate. Eyes crinkled at the corners because of the ray of warm, yellow light shining onto them. A bright line, straight as an arrow, making the speckles of green and golden in his eyes stand out more than ever. When he developed it, Neil’s heart lost a beat. 

For whatever reason, though, Andrew still doesn’t want anyone else to know. It’s not like Neil cares, he is a private person, but acting like they don’t even know each other is taking it a bit too far. They don’t discuss it anymore, ever since that one time. It’s fine, Neil will take what he can he get. It doesn’t mean it’s easy, though, especially when Aaron’s becoming more and more of a friend. It’s not betrayal, because what Aaron hates about all those people is the fact that they don’t actually care about Andrew, they just want a night with the monster to brag about. Not that they ever get it, Andrew was pretty clear about that. This thing between Neil and Andrew, though, is different. It wasn’t planned, it just happened and neither of them could stop it. If nobody can know, though, not even Aaron can. It makes things awkward, like the first time Neil is invited to the twins’ apartment. It’s Nicky’s actually, they live together. Neil knows about the twins finding out about each other when they were thirteen, about the array of foster homes before that, for Andrew. About Tilda, for Aaron, who died of an overdose before Andrew got out of juvie. A false rumor and a true one. Some things, Andrew told him himself, others Allison and Dan and the rest of them. The first time Neil gets invited to the twin’s apartment to work on an essay with Aaron, Andrew is supposed to be out. Needless to say, he comes home sooner than expected. It should be pointed out that Andrew is a terrible actor, maybe that is why he hates lying so much, because the way he stops short at seeing Neil sitting at the kitchen table is the most telling scene Neil has ever seen. Luckily, Aaron isn’t watching. Andrew escapes to his room without a single word, the door slamming behind him.

“Don’t take it personally,” says Aaron, rolling his eyes, “he’s like this with –actually, he’s like this only with you.”

“I don’t care if your brother hates me.” Replies Neil, truthful.

“He’s not like what people make him out to be, you know?” Yes, he knows. “When he moved here, straight out of juvie and full of tattoos at fifteen, he made an impression. He was something new in a town where everybody’s known each other since kindergarten.”

“You don’t have to defend him.” Says Neil.

“I’m not, it just pisses me off, this obsession, this fascination they have for him. He’s just like everyone else.”

“Is it because you’re jealous?”

“What?” Aaron’s brows furrow, he looks at Neil as if he couldn’t have said anything more stupid.“ No, it’s because people have been taking advantage of him since forever and he –he doesn’t deserve anymore of this bullshit. He might be a real asshole and we might not like each other that much, but he’s still my brother.”

***

It all goes to shit because of Riko Moriyama. Of course.

The Academy has thrown a party to celebrate the end of the semester, when Neil thinks about the time that has passed since he moved here he’s surprised. Not pleasantly, not awfully, just surprised. Because it’s been a year, and it’s the longest he’s ever been in one place since he was seven. He got to finish things, he got to finish both the semesters at the Academy and now the only thing left is the exhibition. When it all will be over, then, he’ll get to keep his friends. He’ll get to spend the summer and, next year, he’ll still be here. And then there’s Andrew, because it’s been long since he started sleeping with him as well. Very, very long. He’s surprised they managed to keep it a secret, but then again not so much. Not when they only see each other in the privacy of Neil’s bedroom or when they take the Maserati for a drive and end up in places far, far away from this reality. Still, it’s been a long time.

The party is fancy, elegant and over the top, something Neil would hate if not for the fact that his friends can be there as well. They’re allowed to bring guests, both him, Allison and Aaron, and they didn’t hesitate to ask the others. It’s startling, seeing them all dressed up, it makes him smile.

“Jesus, this is boring.” Sighs Nicky.

“Free booze,” replies Dan, two glasses of champagne in her hands, “ _good_ booze.”

“Speaking of,” starts Allison, “baby monster, where’s the big monster? He wouldn’t miss a chance at free alcohol.”

Aaron rolls his eyes at the nickname, like he always does. “Working.”

“Bo-ring.”

“He’s the one bringing you the booze, you should thank him.” Says Neil. He’s seen Andrew the second he stepped foot into the room, white shirt and no tattoos in sight. Hair slicked back, rings gone. He looks handsome like this, he looks like the kind of man uncle Stuart would approve of. Neil likes him better when he’s himself, in every sense of the word.

“What’s all this solidarity? Did you call a truce?” It’s Matt.

“We were never at war.”

They dismiss his words like they always do, when he talks about Andrew. When he denies the animosity, the hatred. Andrew always says he doesn’t like liars, so Neil won’t lie, it’s not his fault people decide not to believe him.

“Oh God.” Kevin’s voice sounds strained, almost whiny.

“What is it?” Someone asks.

“Oh _God_. Riko is here.” He really is, black suit, black shirt and a red tie, walking towards them with a smile so disturbing it looks more like a grimace. This is not going to end well.

“Get Andrew.” When no one moves, Dan insists. “Someone fucking get Andrew.” She sounds alarmed, on edge, whatever it is that Riko’s done to them, it can’t be good. It’s Nicky who comes up beside him and explains, because Neil isn’t supposed to know Riko. He does, though, and the only person who knows is Andrew.

“Riko is Kevin’s ex-boyfriend, a real piece of shit, gaslighted him for years. Kevin got out thanks to Andrew and now he looks after him, in a way.” Nicky doesn’t have the chance to say anything more, because Riko is right in front of them, eyes solely on Kevin.

“Kevin, it’s been so long. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Fuck off, Riko.” Replies Matt, instead. Riko gives him a look, aloof and presumptuous. He doesn’t answer, of course, but he doesn’t turn back to Kevin either. Because he sees Neil. If he was smiling before, now he looks positively delighted.

“Look who it is, handsome as ever.” Neil feels his friends’ eyes on him, it feels as if the whole room is looking at him. This has the potential to be catastrophic, to ruin everything. He needs to say something, to dismiss Riko, to make him _go away_ –

“Still spreading your legs for that mutt?”

And there it goes. The bullet, the bomb.

“What, cat got you tongue? You weren’t so quiet the last time.”

“Neil, what is he talking about?”

He doesn’t really know who asked that, doesn’t really know what’s happening around him except for this one horrible conversation. The only thing he can think of is that he needs to stop this, stop Riko before the truth comes out. But it’s too late, it’s too late.

“Oh, they don’t know?”

“Shut up.” Hisses Neil, finally finding his voice. Riko laughs.

“This is priceless.”

“Shut the fuck up, Riko.” It’s not Neil who says those words. It’s Andrew.

“Ah, there he is. The mutt.”

It doesn’t take anyone long to connect the dots, if the shocked gasps are anything to go by. Neil can’t make himself look at them, any of them. Not even Andrew. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to keep it a secret and Aaron would never find out and it would all be okay. It would all be okay.

“Honestly, Minyard, I’ll never understand you. If _I_ got to fuck someone like him, I’d brag about it.” And Riko just. Won’t. Stop.

“What?” Aaron. Aaron, sounding small, sounding incredulous. And then, louder: “ _what_?”

He gets ignored, of course, Andrew only has eyes for Riko. He laughs, something low and ugly.

“What’s there to brag about?”

It hits Neil like a knife in the stomach and, this time, his head snaps to Andrew immediately. He won’t look at him, staring straight ahead.

“You’re right.” Continues Riko, as if he hasn’t done enough, as if he hasn’t already fucked it all up. “He’s ruined, after all. All those scars, all those daddy issues, definitely not pretty. Unless,” he turns to Neil, then,“ is it your thing? Do you call him _dad_ -“

The punch doesn’t come from Neil, not even from Andrew. It comes from Matt, and it sends Riko straight to his knees. After that, it’s all pretty confusing. Someone from security comes to throw Matt out, Neil sees Dan follow him, someone else helps Riko up. There’s people everywhere, with their sparkling jewels and sparkling champagne, and they just won’t stop looking. Won’t stop whispering. Neil can’t breathe. _All those scars, all those daddy issues_. How is it possible that Riko knows about them, about Neil’s past? He can’t breathe. It’s all out there in the open, everything he’s tried so, so hard to forget. To leave behind. Now, now he’s standing naked in this room full of strangers and Andrew won’t look at him. Of course he won’t, of course Riko was right. _What’s there to brag about?_ He thinks he might throw up. He closes his eyes, the room spins around him, the sounds are deafening. He still can’t fucking breathe. When he opens them, he’s outside. And there’s Andrew. And there’s Aaron and there’s uncle Stuart, with his hands on Neil’s shoulders.

“Breathe, kid, breathe.”

He does, something raspy and shaky, but he does.

“You’re okay, that asshole is gone. You’re alright.”

It takes him a while, there with uncle Stuart’s eyes on his, but his breathing slows, goes back to normal. His hands stop shaking, his mind clears, and it’s like realizing it all over again. Riko’s words, Andrew’s. Aaron. Fuck, Aaron. He looks at them both, behind Stuart’s shoulders, the way they’re standing there, carbon copies. Distant. Uncle Stuart takes one look at him and sighs.

“I’ll leave you alone, call me when you want to leave.”

Now, there’s only them left. It comes as a surprise when Aaron’s words are directed to Andrew, first. The lid comes off and all the ugly spills out.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, we had a deal! I’ve been lying to Katelyn for years, for _years_. I’ve been pretending I haven’t had feelings for her since ninth grade, I’ve been watching her get boyfriend after boyfriend and acting as if doesn’t hurt like hell, just for you to go and break your promise.”

Andrew looks like he always does, calm and collected.

“I didn’t break my promise. I’ve been fucking him, that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

It’s infuriating, the way they’re talking about him as if he’s not there, as if he’s nothing but an inconvenience. He wants to say something –anything– but the words just won’t come.

“Fucking him?” Aaron’s voice is dripping with disbelief. “I’ve seen the look on your face, Andrew, I see it everyday in the mirror. This isn’t you fucking him, this is you-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Hisses Andrew, threatening, mask finally cracking. “You know nothing. Have I ever disappointed you, lied to you? I’ve kept my promise the same way you did and fuck you for believing anything else.”

It shuts Aaron up, but not for long. Because next, he turns to Neil.

“Is it true?”

What can Neil say, he doesn’t even know it himself.

“Aaron, I-“

“He’s been fucking you and that’s it?”

Neil thinks about him –Andrew– in his bed, above him, muscles sleek with sweat, moving into him as if the only thing that matters, the only thing keeping him together is that. Is Neil. He thinks about them, after. He thinks about that time he woke up to Andrew’s arms around him, head on Neil’s chest, holding him so tight Neil thought he’d never let him go. About Andrew’s voice, steady and low as he spoke into the dark. About the red rising to his cheeks, unexpected, when Neil _looked at him_ _like that_. And he looks at Andrew, and Andrew looks at him.

“You said I was different.”

There is no pause, no hesitation. “I did, I also said it didn’t mean anything.”

He’s right, of course he is. One thing Neil has learnt is that Andrew is never wrong. Neil knows there are a lot of things left unsaid between them, deep down, he knows he couldn’t have been the only one to feel like this; but what if it was all in his head? The thought makes his stomach clench. Why would Andrew ever want something more, why would he ever trust someone like Neil? He is nothing, he is a fraud, a person built on lies. He represents everything Andrew hates, it makes sense.

“Is it true,” he starts, “what you told Riko? Do you really think there is nothing to brag about, that I’m ruined?” He can’t make himself look at Andrew in the eyes, he keeps his on the ground. His own voice is monotone, words clipped.

Silence. Neil takes it as the answer it is. His eyes burn, he hasn’t cried since he was seventeen and his mother died, he won’t do it now. Except he can’t really stop them, the tears. They just keep coming, clouding his vision, but he doesn’t let them fall. Aaron takes it upon himself to twist the knife buried in his gut.

“You –you’re a liar, you lied to my face the whole time. You’re just like anyone else, did you talk to me just so you could have a chance at Andrew?”

“No, no.” Neil is sure the desperation in his tone couldn’t be any more obvious, but, somehow, Aaron doesn’t notice it. Maybe he doesn’t want to notice it.

“Stop lying!”

It’s two against one, it’s not fair, he wants to say. He feels so, so small. Neil doesn’t think he can take this much longer, not without breaking down, and he won’t show weakness this easily. He’s strong, he’s been through way worse. He can do this.

“I’m not lying. I talked to you because I like you, because you’re my friend. Before you, I’d never had one, not really. And then I met Andrew and –and things just happened. I don’t know what this deal between you two is about, but don’t worry, apparently Andrew couldn’t care less about me. I do, though, care about him. So don’t say I’m like anyone else, because I’m not. I thought- “He stops, his voice cracks. “I thought it was worth it, _he_ was worth it. You can believe what you want, but this is my truth.”

He doesn’t stand around to hear what they have left to say, he has to protect himself somehow.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it goes, the epilogue! Thank you all for reading and for the beautiful comments :)

He decides on Andrew’s photos, of course he does. They’re his best work and, honestly, in the last two weeks he hasn’t bothered thinking of anything new. Not when he spent his days in bed, trying not to think and failing miserably. Allison calls, Matt calls, even Nicky does. He doesn’t answer. He feels a bit lost, as if the castle he’d been building turned out to be a house of cards. Swept away by the lightest breeze. This is worse than anything he’s ever had to endure, because it’s different. Because, this time, he had it all in one hand and he was holding it so tight, so tight he broke it on his own. It’s his fault. He should have told Aaron immediately, he should have told Andrew to fuck off with his commitment issues or maybe he should have asked him, properly, to turn their thing into something else. He shouldn’t have settled. But that’s something Neil Josten does, he adapts.

He decides on Andrew’s photos because they are incredibly alive, black and white just like Andrew himself. Because that boy in the pictures isn’t the Andrew Minyard everybody wants him to be. He’s Andrew. Andrew behind the wheel of the Maserati, window rolled down, a cigarette between his fingers and the most thoughtful expression Neil has ever seen on him. Focused, lip caught between his teeth. He can’t remember what they were talking about. And then there’s Andrew a the diner, the one on the highway where they always had breakfast after driving around all night, with a spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth, eyes crinkled because he’d frozen his brain. His fingers are sticky, there’s a streak of ice-cream on his cheek. He looks very young. And there’s even Neil’s favorite photograph, and there’s much, much more. Andrew in all of his facets. It’s almost impossible to believe he could ever look as apathetic as he always does, that’s something Neil is quite proud of.

It hurts, watching the photographs being put up on the walls of the gallery. Watching people handle them as if they’re not his most prized possession, as if they’re not proof that the Andrew he spent all those moths with actually existed. That he was there, and he was real. What they had was real. But that’s what happens, they’re just a bunch of stupid photos for a stupid exhibition no one cares about. Neil was adamant about them being placed far, far away from Aaron’s works and in that, at least, he succeeded. The gallery is big, of course, but it’s not infinite. There’s more than a chance Aaron and Allison and whoever else is invited might see them. Andrew might see them. It was a risk worth taking, though, because it might be what it needs for the people in this stupid town to realize the monster they all talk about is actually quite human. Maybe even more than they are. That’s exactly what happens, the night of the exhibition.

Neil’s wearing the Academy uniform, it’s stifling and suffocating and this damn tie is too tight. It’s the nerves, the anxiety, he’s well aware of it. Still, it doesn’t make breathing any easier, especially when a crowed starts gathering around his post. Neil has never liked being the center of attention, hell, he’s always hated it. He has always tried to pass by, to camouflage, and now it feels as if the whole gallery is looking at his works. Not just his works, that’s not what they are, they’re much, much more. They are his eyes. This is his perspective, and it shows. People are whispering, they know the boy with ice cream all over his face is Andrew Minyard, the monster. That he’s supposed to be dangerous and wild and emotionless. That no one can touch him, those photographs show one man can. One man understands him. One man gets to see him, know him, and now they all can. Indirectly, yes, but at least they know. Neil has heard more than one person call Andrew soulless and as he looks at those photographs, as he remembers every word and every touch and every single twitch of his face, he knows Andrew is anything but. He sees the shocked expressions, the fascination and the looks thrown his way. The mumbled ‘I can’t believe _he_ ’s the one Minyard wants’ and ‘did you know he could smile?’ It doesn’t make him angry, after all he’s the one who decided to show Andrew to the world, he was aware of the consequences. It makes him uncomfortable, as if he’s showing himself raw. There’s a hand on his shoulder, it startles him. It’s Matt, and with him Dan and Renee and Allison and even Seth. Kevin and Nicky, too. Nicky, who looks suspiciously tearful.

“They’re beautiful.” Says Renee, a look in her eyes that says she’s not surprised.

“They really are.”

He nods, stiff. He hasn’t spoken to any of them since the party, since Riko came an destroyed everything. He knows it’s on him, that they tried to get ahold of him, to speak, but he just –he just couldn’t make himself answer their calls knowing he’d been the one to widen the crack in their group. He tells them that, now, when they ask for explanations. Matt looks at him with the kind of incredulity and sadness the never fails to make Neil blush, a bit ashamed.

“You did nothing of the sort.” It’s Nicky. “The twins were bound to break, their relationship isn’t healthy, it has never been.”

“And we love you, Neil, you’re one of us.” Allison speaks up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You kept a secret, who doesn’t? And you did it for a good reason.”

“You don’t know that.” He grits out. Allison smiles, something small and private.

“These pictures are pretty clear to me.”

So maybe she’s right, maybe they don’t resent him for what he’s done. Maybe, just maybe, they want him back.

“Of course we do!” Says Matt, incredulous. “You’re our lovesick puppy.”

Neil’s cheeks are suddenly on fire. “I’m not.” He mumbles, and he looks at them. And these people, his friends, they’re standing there and smiling at him, fond, and his heart swells. They don’t stay for long, after. The exhibit drags on, people just won’t stop coming to look at his photographs. It should make him happy and in a certain sense it does, but he also knows that the fact Andrew Minyard is the subject of said photographs plays a very big part in all of this. Still, he doesn’t regret his choice. Not when it gave him the chance to prove this Andrew exists, that he is real, that the person this town thinks they know is nothing but meaningless rumors and legends. That he is human. And that Neil, well, Neil felt for him. He still does.

Aaron comes to him at the end, of course he does. Neil was expecting him. He approaches him warily, eyes drawn to the photographs on the wall. Big, black and white pictures of Aaron’s own features staring back at him. And he stands there, and he looks. And he looks and looks and looks.

“Is this how you see him?” He asks, at last. There’s something in his voice, something a bit disbelieving, awed. Neil looks at the photographs, and thinks he couldn’t imagine Andrew any other way. He says:

“This is who he is.”

He can feel Aaron’s eyes on him, the weight of his stare heavy and precise. When he finally turns to look at him, Aaron is standing there with his eyes considering and his mouth half-open, as if he was about to say something and thought better of it. He closes it, takes a deep breath and focuses back on the photographs.

“Katelyn is my best friend.” He starts, Neil’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I’ve known her since forever, she used to live in front of us, back when I was with my mother. When Andrew came in town I was in a –in a bad place.” He laughs, then, self-deprecatory. “I was a junkie, that’s more like it. Katelyn is two years older than us and I’m not exactly a social butterfly, so she let me hang out with her friends. It started with weed, because everybody does weed, but then… then I found mum’s pills and I thought –I thought she’d finally _see_ me, if everyone stopped treating me like a baby, so I started giving them to this guy, Jake. You need to understand that we didn’t –we lived in a bad neighborhood, bad even for this town, most kids our age ended up in jail, but that was our reality. Those were our people. What I’m trying to say is that it’s not Katelyn’s fault, it never was. When she found out about the drugs, and at that point I was long gone, she was so, so mad. So fucking mad she refused to speak to me until I was clean.” He stops, then, a bit self-conscious, as if he’s giving too much away. Neil doesn’t even know why he’s telling him all of this, he doesn’t owe it to him. It should be Andrew, the one explaining their deal, the one explaining why he thought he could go and keep this secret to himself when Neil was right there with him, on the front line.

“How did you? Get clean, I mean.” Insists Neil, because Andrew’s not here, but it doesn’t lessen his curiosity. Aaron sighs.

“Andrew got me clean, it was the first thing he did when he arrived. A bit of a –unorthodox method, but it was effective. He said he would keep me clean, keep me up, that if I wanted a future I’d better listen to him. He’d seen my photographs, he said:” Aaron clears his throat, half a smile on his face, then, in an imitation of Andrew’s tone, “ _if you care about that stupid hobby of yours, you’ll let me_. So I did, I accepted his deal.”

“You say ‘deal’, what did he get out of it?”

“Me,” replies Aaron without hesitating, “the promise that I wouldn’t leave, that we’d stick together until graduation. That was all he wanted.”

And Neil thinks about it, about a boy who bribes people into his life because he doesn’t trust them not to turn their back on him the first chance they get. A boy with nothing and no one, who’s never given up on himself. Never.

“The first thing he told me was to stop seeing the people from my old neighborhood and that included Katelyn. Of course, I laughed in his face. I told him he couldn’t control my life like that, that I could do what I wanted. So, he dealt with it on his own. His reputation helped, people were afraid of him and started being afraid of me in return. Not Katelyn, though, she wouldn’t let go of me and Andrew didn’t like it. I still don’t know what he said to her, exactly, what he did, but she was –she was _terrified_. Fucking terrified. And I knew I couldn’t get close to her, closer than we already were, if I didn’t want her to get hurt. But then one day I saw Andrew with someone, under the bleachers, and I got so fucking mad. I told him that if I didn’t get to have Katelyn, then he didn’t get to have anyone as well. You can imagine what he said, he said: _I’m just fucking him_.”

Neil flinches at that, can’t help himself. Hearing those words all over again is just a reminder of how fucking stupid he has let himself be. Aaron turns to him with a grimace, aware.

“He said it didn’t count, because he didn’t care. So I told him it was fine, that he could keep his meaningless hook-ups and I’d keep Katelyn in my life and wouldn’t let it mean anything. That’s how it’s been ever since then.”

Neil knew where this was going, it doesn’t make it any less impacting. Hearing the whole story, the intricacies of it, it paints a clear picture. Andrew’s thought-process has always been clear to Neil, from the smallest things to his bigger stories. It means that Neil knew, has always known, there must be more to his indecision, his mood swings. Reasons why he let Neil go, reasons why he came back to him. Back and forth. Still, the difference between suspecting and knowing is everything and, at the same time, it’s not enough.

“I’m not trying to make excuses for him, I’m just trying to help you understand.”

And this, this doesn’t make sense. Aaron’s reaction when the truth came out was pretty telling. So, Neil asks: “why?” Aaron pauses, he takes a breath and then grits out:

“Because you’re –you’re not so bad for him, I guess.” If the situation wasn’t so serious, it would be funny, the way Aaron speaking those words sounds as if he needs to literally tear them out of his mouth. It’s not funny, though, because it doesn’t make a difference. Because it’s Aaron talking and Andrew is nowhere in sight. Because he was the one who fucked up, not Neil. And he knows –he knows pride is a dangerous thing, but he needs to let himself feel this. To allow himself these emotions.

“He doesn’t care about me, he made it pretty clear.”

“I’m going to break our deal,” replies Aaron, in stride, “it’s time he understands he doesn’t need to tie me down, that I won’t leave him.”

“What does that have to do with me?” He knows he’s smiling, and he knows it looks pitiful.

“He didn’t care because he didn’t let himself,” there’s heat behind Aaron’s words, something Neil didn’t think he was capable of, “I’m not saying everything will change because Andrew is, well, Andrew. I’m saying I’ll tell him to wake the fuck up, but then it’s up to him.”

“He won’t choose me and I won’t wait for him like a fucking soldier’s wife.” The anger, it’s always there.

“He’s not self-destructive, Neil. Not anymore, at least.” And then it’s not about anger anymore, it’s about this feeling, this punch in his gut. This nausea. He looks away, because he can’t hold Aaron’s eyes, ready for war. He looks away and sees those photographs and says, voice small:

“He hurt me.”

Aaron fights.

“And now you know why, it doesn’t excuse him, but it gives you a reason.”

***

Someone buys one of his photographs. It’s odd, because they aren’t on sale, they’re simply part of a university project. Neil’s an amateur. Still, someone buys one of his photographs. When the Academy calls, they tell him he was very insistent and that he offered good money, that they couldn’t deny him. _Don’t worry, the money will go to you Mr. Josten_. As if that’s what he cares about, as if attending the Academy isn’t enough of a reason why he wouldn’t care about money. The thing is, he knows who bought his photograph and he knows which one it is. He knows it from the moment the Academy calls to the moment he pulls up to the gallery to give up his work in person. _It’s only polite, Mr. Josten_. He knows who it is the moment he sees him staring at that one photograph, still on the wall, with his arms crossed and his back to Neil. Muscles tense, the line of a tattoo appearing from the collar of his t-shirt and curling around his neck. And Neil, Neil is pissed.

“I don’t want your money, take it and leave.”

Andrew isn’t startled by Neil’s presence, he turns around slowly, calmly. Just like he always does. It gets on Neil’s nerves, it’s a reminder that Andrew will never be affected like Neil is. And so, Neil is angry, he’s so fucking angry and it’s still not enough to stop his heart from starting to beat wildly the moment Andrew looks at him. He looks like he always does, beautiful, unattainable. Untouchable.

“You had no right.” He says. _You had no right_. And Neil. Neil is tired. He’s so, so tired.

“Take them all, I don’t care anymore.”

“I don’t want them all, I want this one.” Replies Andrew, eyes steady, nodding at the one picture Neil knew he’d bought. It’s his favorite, when he looks at it, it all feels real. The way Andrew looked at him, it’s there and it can’t be changed and _it was real_.

“Why?” He asks, because he wants to hurt. More than he has already, more than he will once this is over.

“Obliviousness doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s funny,” laughs Neil, humorless, “most people seem to think it does.”

“I know better.” It comes out like that, simple, clean, fast.

“You’re saying you’re not like other people?”

“Yes.”

And that’s just the straw that breaks the camel’s back. One word and Neil can’t hold back anymore.

“You don’t get to do this!” Neil is not someone who yells, he knows how to keep his cool even in the worst situations and, yet, he’s doing it. He’s yelling at Andrew and the sound of his voice echoes in the empty gallery, bouncing off walls and gaining momentum and hitting hard. Or, at least, Neil hopes it does. “You don’t get to say shit like that, it’s what you always do. You play with me, you make me believe –you make me believe you care, but you don’t. When you care about someone you don’t think they’re ruined.”

There’s a moment of silence, when they’re simply looking at each other. Neil, flushed and gritting his teeth. Andrew, breathing, assessing. And then he speaks up, slowly, as if talking to a cornered wild animal.

“I never said that.”

Neil snorts. “You didn’t deny it.”

“I didn’t confirm it, either.”

“Yeah, well, it was what I needed.” It’s loud, harsh. Then, again, softer: “it was what I needed. When you care about someone you know what they need.”

“I –I did know.” Grits out Andrew, strained. When Neil doesn’t reply, he’s forced to keep going. “I’ve always known.”

“And you didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve spoken to Aaron.” Blurts out Andrew, he’s changing the subject, or maybe he isn’t. It’s a fact, but Neil answers anyway.

“I have.”

The conversation comes to a halt, naturally. For once, the silence between them is uncomfortable. They’ve never been big on speaking up, their banter was fast and short. Silence was a necessity, especially after their most tiring conversations. The intimate ones. At least that’s what Neil thought they were, now he doesn’t’ really know what to think anymore. So, yes, he’s spoken to Aaron. He knows why Andrew acted the way he did, he knows there have been complications all along. It doesn’t excuse him. It doesn’t change what happened. _He won’t choose me_. But Neil wants. God, he wants so bad. He wants what they had and he wants –he wants Andrew, with his moods and his brooding and his brutal honesty. He wants him back, the Andrew he thought he knew. The Andrew that, deep down, he knows is still there, has always been there. The Andrew that’s looking at him now, that’s _walking_ to him, tense and stiff and –and determined. Neil’s heart skips a beat. He can’t move. Andrew is right in front of him, now, just a few inches away. He can see the green in his eyes and the shine of his lip ring and the way his brows are permanently furrowed, the lines the motion etches on his forehead. And he thinks he would forgive him, just to get it all back. He thinks he would forgive him anything. When Andrew speaks, he can’t make himself look at Neil in the eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he says, voice rough, “I don’t get to have this. I don’t get to have you.” It hits him so hard, Neil’s breathing stops for a second. And he’s supposed to be angry, he’s supposed to be mad and proud and wants to be.

“Well, too fucking bad Andrew, you have me.”

There it goes, his first mistake, he didn’t mean for it to come out in present tense. _Had_ , Andrew had him. It was supposed to sound like that. Andrew’s eyes snap to his the moment those words leave his mouth, bitter, but then again, not really. Not as much as he wanted them to be. He thinks he sounds scared, because he is. He’s scared he’s going to always let Andrew get away with everything, if he forgives him this. He tells him exactly that.

“You,” says Andrew, angry. Or maybe –maybe not angry, indignant. Eyes hard, eyes warm. “You are the only person who’s ever been able to keep up with me. Do you understand? You are the toughest man I know and you won’t let yourself be walked over.”

And that’s all he needs, really, Andrew’s brutal honesty. Andrew talking some sense into him. He has always been Neil Josten, he was Neil Josten before Andrew Minyard and he’ll be Neil Josten after him, and Andrew is reminding him of that. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I hurt you.”

It’s a statement, an admission. It’s the closest Andrew will ever come to an apology and Neil, Neil doesn’t really need one. He doesn’t _want_ Andrew to apologize. _I don’t believe in regret._ He’d sad that once, Andrew. Neil won’t be the one to make him compromise himself.

“You did.” He concedes.

“I won’t ever again, it’s a promise.” Says Andrew. And then he smiles, just the tiniest bit, “I’m good at those.”

Neil doesn’t need to see himself to know he’s smiling as well, big and free. It’s relief, this feeling that’s making his chest expand. And it’s getting bigger and bigger, more than anything he’s ever felt before. He thinks he might explode with it, that it might come pouring out of his lips and his eyes and his ears. And he’d let it, because it would show Andrew what he doesn’t have the words to explain. What this means, to him. To a nobody, the shadow of a boy who used hide and run. He thinks he wants to kiss him, he thinks he does, he thinks Andrew kisses him back and that it’s more than –it’s just _more_. Because he finally has a place and he has a person. He used to be a ghost, he used to let time pass him by and just stand there, unseen. And now Andrew sees him. And Neil feels real.


End file.
